2024.05.18: Get the angel a suit
Doris has opted for a severely tailored deep navy-blue suit of the pencil skirt and blazer variety. She is waiting outside The Blue Devil, faking Venture like a pro. Her arms are folded, and she is clearly trying not to pace. Raziel walks along, clutched in his hands are the wrinkled magazine pages with "the suits" There is the faintest of subtle softening around the edges of Doris' expression as she watches the taller Kindred amble closer. "Raziel. Good evening." Raziel is more put off by the softening then he was the salt "umm... yes... so... uhm... lead on!" "Would you prefer to walk? We could take a car." She shrugs subtly. Her hands fold behind her back. "Your show. I... I can pay by the way." Victoria walks up to the pair. "My apologies for my late arrival. My researches were engrossing." "She will wait for us. We are her only appointment. If you would like to see the city between my bar and Gordon Tower, we can walk, and it will inconvenience nobody." The slightest of smiles. "You can, and I would be wounded that you reject my largess." She turns to greet Victoria. "Miss Marsden. We were just discussing how we wished to progress." "I am free for most of the evening. I will need to move a few things from one area to another for processing shortly before dawn, but timing is, of course, everything. How far away is our destination?" "Just in Gordon Tower." Doris indicates the shiniest of the skyscrapers looming nearby. "Then we walk, no? It is a lovely night for it." "I really haven't seen much of this town to be honest." "Doctor Pendleton tends to keep his charges close. Let us be off, then." Doris offers her arm to Victoria, as Victoria is the senior Kindred in the group and thus the Great Chain of Being dictates the Keeper escort her fellow elder. Raziel follows along, once again... uncertain of the "protocol." "Walk beside us, Raziel." Gently. Whatever had been bothering her the night before seems to have abated. Victoria takes the Keeper's arm and walks beside her, quiet. Raziel also follows along. With frequent glances at the two. It is obvious he is not sure how to read this situation The city they walk through shifts subtly, then more dramatically from arts and entertainment district to corporate heart. There are security cameras subtly present at street corners, plenty of light, and elegantly landscaped median strips down the middle of the streets. Police cars glide by as part of the orderly evening traffic. Occasionally, Doris points out interesting boutiques or art installations or architectural masterpieces. Close to Gordon Tower, most of the buildings have a neo-Art Deco feel, somehow effortlessly fusing old and futuristic without making either look foolish. "Hmmm." A delicate frown wrinkles her nose. "This is almost too well-ordered. It is lovely, to be certain, but..." "This is what happens when you build a metropolis whole cloth instead of letting it grow organically." Victoria nods. "Exactly. I find it slightly unsettling. Raziel? I would enjoy your thoughts." "I am not sure if you would beleive me if I told you..." He pauses. “This idea of city planning, really is new right? Like, Uruk started with this farmer setting his hut next to that farmer. By about 6,000 BC it was such a confusing mess. I think I was a farmer then. I used to bring my wheat into into town once a year. It was only a few kilometers, but it seemed like the greatest journey Gilgamesh ever took on. So yeah, this idea of planned streets is only a few hundred years old, and it is still disconcerting. It seems less human." "Humans like to organize things. The whole expanse of history tells us that. Themselves into groups, groups into communities..." Doris waves her free hand vaguely about, indicating the whole of the cityscape in front and around them. "This is just another expression of that desire to be orderly. Who knows where it comes from or what iteration it shall take next?" "I honestly think it is man's desire to be God like. They see the cells of a plant, or the amazing way the sun rises and falls and want to try and create something similar. We didn't have freewill at the beginning, we just did. Man's..." -he looks at the two walking with him- "people's ability to have free will was always amazing to us. I half wonder if his reason for our fall was to give us free will, wisdom, the apple. He was bored with automatons and needed us to have this spark. I will ask him the next time I see him" "uuhhhh her" "them" "it" "you know what I mean" "Grace has no meaning if there is no capacity to be undeserving of it." Out of the philosophical word salad, Doris comes up with a concise summary. Of sorts. "He always wished his toys were real." "Of all the gods of human history, the Christian one makes the least sense on paper. Granted, the paper we accept as canonical was devised by committee and under duress, but..." A shrug. "The apocrypha do not make Christianity less strange." "Wanna know the truth... the Christian... Islam... Jud.... whatever idea is the closest to what He is like. Still not quite right, but close. The other religions are not far off. And that fact that you people kill each other over the smallest differences... just... it is sad. I think if you would just accept that Buddha, and Islam and Wicca and... the Mormons, and... Ragnarok and... everything else have truth to them, and stop killing each other the world would be a better place." Raziel shakes his head for a moment. "And yet...there is still grace." "I think I have said to much... Technically talking about this stuff was what got me punished in the first place" "us" "Grace redeems us all if we allow it." She sighs softly. "The desire to be right does more harm than good, though. You have the right of it there." "Sure there is always grace, and God's plan. But if his plan was for me to be trapped on earth so we, as his toys could have free will... well fuck him... but... I wan... God damn it! I am still talking! How about your local sports team?" "I would rather discuss theology, if it is all the same to you." She clicks down the well-maintained sidewalk for a moment in silence, keeping pace with Victoria. "Is it not Buddhist philosophy that one is incarnate until one manages to learn some lesson or other?" “I was there, we were there before the first pindot of light. Infinity and then time, and I was here. The punishment came, and I lived out my lives. None of me was aware of the divine spark. Life after life. I remember now, millennia but it is hard to remember breakfast last week. Flashes come, I was a carpenter in Italy. I was a beggar in Constantinople. Everyone with a past life thinks they are Cleopatra.... I was a whore on the river Thames. Frozen alone and dead, no books are written of me. Jim was a Soldier and the trenches were not traumatic enough... it was my Embrace that was. Made me remember. Later my death that made me remember more. I am Jim forever now... until I atone for talking too much.” "Is it that you speak too freely or that you speak too much? There is a difference." “We did, we took mercy. He punished us.” There is an emphasis placed on the word “We.” "But look at this wondrous cage." Doris frees her arm from Victoria's light grasp so that she can spread them both wide, encompassing more than simply the city. She turns to face Raziel. "I could dwell here on this planet until the sun dies and in its death throes swallows it and still never learn all there is to know. We are all wonderfully made, even with our faults." She hums the chorus of some song, whispered to her in the spur of the moment. It is undoubtedly unfamiliar to everyone in immediate earshot. “Yeah I guess... still a cage” "Only until we figure out how to effectively travel between the stars." Doris says this with the sort of firm conviction that suggests it is only a matter of time. "Then we will be able to go where we please and fully appreciate creation. Until then we must be good stewards of this planet." Raziel shakes his head, "Yeah, I guess... then the cage will be larger. Look, can we change the subject?" Raziel moves to rub a spot between his shoulder blades. He looks off into the distant horizon with a sadness on his face, that was definitely not there before. "I..." The change in expression, so different from the uplifting thrill stirring her own lost soul, catches Doris off-guard. "I'm sorry. I don't get to discuss theology often." Informality adds sincerity to the apology. "I suppose I am as much my mother's daughter as my father's." "Let’s sit down and talk in depth, just... you reminded me of some things I wish I still had." "I'm sorry. Still." She holds out her hand. "Forgive me?" He smiles with a bit of a mischievous grin "Forgiveness IS divine." "And to fall short of the glory of God is human." A hint of litany in her reply. "As long as you forgive me for being a melancholy twit" "Always. My forgiveness is more liberally dispensed than my wrath." Her hand remains outstretched, conciliatory. He takes her hand and smiles, "Forgiven. You need to understand, I can't die. It makes you prioritize things... differently than when I thought I was mortal. So, it is not on you, there is no way you can dance across the no-man's land minefield that is my mind. I don't expect that of anyone." "I am not certain discovering one has failed to stay dead is comforting in any context. And endless time does change priorities." Victoria smiles. "It does indeed. Plans can take decades, centuries to mature and if we are fortunate, that is nothing to us. A goal to be achieved. And the longer one is alive, the shorter the perception of time passing. Yet memory is the most affected. As we move further from our past, events, even important ones, become mere flashes. A song, a scent on the breeze, a single thought or lesson learned. Faces and circumstances fade." She turns her gaze to the Malkavian. "And certain itches fade with time as well." She looks up. "We live by necessity in the present." "It is the only moment that truly exists." Raziel mutters something quietly under his breath but keeps walking. Raziel stays quiet for a long while. Walking in silence as the shops pass by. He finally breaks the silence, "What is your present then Victoria, Doris? Why wake up each evening?" Doris replies with a vague handwave. Apparently, all of the everything is why. "My list is not complete." "Raziel, I am drawn to all that I do not know. Once, a very, very long time ago, it was possible for one man - for it was usually men - to know practically all there was in the Western world to know. Languages, religion, the limited knowledge of science and mathematics that existed. Trades. A stretch, perhaps, but not impossible and some Kindred with our notably long lives took on that task. Now? There is so very, very much more. I will never be done, and I will never lose my thirst for life, if I devote myself to learning all that I can, even in a select number of fields." As Victoria's voice fades, you get the impression that something was left unsaid. "...the chance to make up for lost educational opportunities is a close second." Doris eyes Victoria briefly, but does not ask questions she does not need the answers to. Plausible deniability is useful. "Well the Lord God is ineffable, if your list is to know everything before you die, you will never find death." Raziel shrugs. "My list is less noble." Doris shrugs. "I just want to discharge my duty to New Albion and go home." Raziel laughs, "Hey, my goal is to go home too!" "I wish to return to the Queen of the West in all her beauty, with the beautiful river making a necklace of reflected light around her throat..." The amount of homesickness in Doris' voice is palpable. "...and there, our homes, radiant in the light of day. Does no one miss a place at night?" "I remember sitting on a hill overlooking Florence, Firenze... the light nestled in between the hills like gems. Firenze is so much more beautiful at night then in the light of day." "The view of the city from the Florence side of the river is best at night." Victoria nods approvingly. "There is a feel, a scent, to a night breeze in my old home that cannot be found in the light of day. There are places I have visited in my unlife that my heart recalls fondly. It is wise not to dwell on what we have outgrown." "Attachment paves the road to suffering...ah, here we are." The automated glass doors slide open and... Meanwhile… Toliver arrives to the Tower's garage about 3 minutes before the meeting. Parking his motorcycle. He approaches the entrance and shows the security the envelope the note came in. "I am expected." The armed security looked more in place protecting Fort Knox than an office building. Careful eyes would note the glass doors that were slowly beginning to open for Toliver were almost certainly bullet-proof, given their thickness. The subtle 'tch' of cameras moving to look upon him were caught only by the most careful of ears. "Mr. Gordon is expecting you sir, Welcome to Gordon Tower." the guard says, almost reverently. You would see laid out before you a modern corporate lobby, one that has a smiling woman staring at you from... What, 35, 40 feet away? As if whatever work she was doing before your arrival meant very little. Toliver takes off his helmet and couches it in the crook of his left arm, a seemingly very natural move for him. His movement as a casual cadence to it as he closes the open floor to the desk. "Evening Miss. I am expected." The woman nods, and presses a button below the desk. "Welcome to New Albion, Sir! We are honored to have you." she smiles a knowing smile, and an elevator door behind her, behind the desk, opens up. She leans over and pulls the desk 'lid' up to allow Toliver to walk through. "May I take your Helmet, sir? Or would you prefer to keep it?" "I will hold on to it, but thank you for the offer." *With that he walks past her and enters the elevator. No worry or concern crosses his face." Toliver enters into the Elevator, and finds there is a woman in it. She closes the door as soon as he enters, and presses the top floor. Toliver would notice that her fingers were elongated into a sharp claw. Slowly, a glance towards him. She was certainly beautiful, in a way, but there was an undeniable ferocity in the rows of brown hair that tumbled freely off her. "Welcome to the Tower. I hope you're enjoying New Albion." she says, with a terriblely poor rehersal voice. Toliver would note that there is a large Mirror reflecting back at him from the mirror finish of the door of the elevator. Toliver nods in thanks to the woman and looks forward to the mirrored inner door, stoically. He soon starts to hum a tune, "The Girl from Ipanema", as he rides the elevator. His left hand tapping the rhythm of the tune on his helmet. Kenna blinks at the tune. "Hm." she mutters to herself. She wasn't contractually obligated to say anything else, but if he wanted to talk to the person beside him, he was free to do so. Otherwies, the only sounds on the elevator is the Girl from Ipanema and the rise and fall of Kenna's breath, an entirely un-needed excess she clearly chose to do. Toliver stops humming and turns to the woman. "Does the tune annoy you? I mean it is a muzak classic of the 1980's and 1990's so I can understand if it sets one off. It is actually a lovely tune, form the 1960's, if you know the words, of a clearer time and wistful longing. You should give it a proper listen if you haven't." Kenna smiles in spite of herself, revealing a row of sharpened fangs. "... No, it's... Well, I've heard it once or twice." she explains... The doors open, and the waiting room lobby appears. A far cry from the modern decor in the entryway, this is organized more like a stylised version of a victorian study. Sharp oak corners with gilded flourishes accent every space, and a pair of large obsidian collums stand ready towards a pair of heavy wooden doors, which are barred at the moment. A man in a suit is standing in a parade rest, bowing his head with respect as you come in. "Mr. Gordon is at a meeting, but you may be seated. He will see you soon." he offers you a seat on the Couch, and Kenna makes her way past those doors inside the room. The music that is piping into the room is all to familar. "And when she passes, each one she passes goes... Ahhhh" Toliver nods in understanding to the concierge and find his seat on the couch. When the woman walks in and the music can be heard, he chuckles softly to himself. "Oh this is going to be entertaining." He sits for some time, but within 10 minutes or so, he sees the doors open. A little boy, no older than 12, dressed in a sharp black suit, walks out, visibly annoyed. Following close behind him is a man who appears to wearing some sort of mask over the left half of his face. The mask, from this stance, appears to be made out of some sort of ceramic plate. You can barely overhear him say "Mr. Gordon isn't about to tear up a treaty over nothing. You'll pass the next test." as the Boy slams the button and the elevator door opens. Kenna opens the doors, and you can painfully read that she's looking back at the boy with disapointment. Her focus turn to Toliver. "Sir, if you're ready?" she asks. "Do you want an introduction or shall you introduce yourself?" Toliver stands up again and watches the boy sulk onto the elevator. He turns back to his hostess and smiles. "I am not big on pomp and circumstance, Miss. I can introduce myself, thank you." He then starts walking to the office entrance, as he unzips his jacket, showing only empty shoulder holsters over his shirt. Toliver will enter an office best described as "Functional but Impressive". A massive desk was squarely in the middle of the room, with a neatly ordered filing system clearly mid-use. There are several chairs facing towards the desk for ease of access, and the entire back wall is a massive glass floor to ceiling window. Off to the left side was a pair of sofas, which came accented with a bar between them. Television monitors populated the rightmost wall, all of which were off at the moment. A massive Highlander sword hung between two of the televisions, and it sparkled with an undeniable luster. Finally, vision would settle on the man who owned the room, the building, and the city. Measuring at 5'10", he stared out of the window... Casting a long shadow against the floor as the reflecting lights of New Albion glittered against him. "A new Kindred." he said alloud, a precice English accent touched barely with a Scottish overture. He turns slowly, and looks to Toliver. His smile was genuine, but attention would be swiftly drawn to his eyes, which nearly gleamed with reflective appreciation. "Welcome. We're glad you're here." "Your Grace, I presume." Toliver give a slight bow of his head in respect. "I am Toliver. Gone by a few names over the centuries, but in the end Toliver always remains. Please to finally meet." Gordon slowly walks forward, and gestures the man to take a seat at the desk. He slides into his own desk. "Likewise. New Albion is always glad to have new Kindred join us. Tell me of your lineage, and what holdings you bring for us. We can then discuss where I can ensure you get the hunting rights you need to make your stay here successful." he nods, pulling an ink pen out of a drawer and sorting through his reams of parchment. "I am a Brujah, by embrace, and well..." It can be seen the question is a very touchy subject as his RP British is slowly sliding into Geordie. "My Lineage is of a certain flavor, along the lines of I am the Grandchilder of Robin Leeland, and thus the child of the one known as Tyler. I am here as a favor to another in our Society, who thought I was being idle for a little too long." Gordon blinks at the name of his Grandsire, as if it called back some terribly distant memory. "... Leeland's own, hm?" he offers to the air. "Well, he and I had our partings under good terms, and I like to imagine he would not turn to ash at the thought of you working alongside me." he nods with a somewhat collegal approval. "If it is action you want, Childe of Tyler, you will have it." he promises. What goes unstated is the question of what such a lineage implies for the wellbeing of Gordon... If it bothered him, it did not show. Instead, he said "The Brujah live in the South East of the city, on the other side of the river. They operate a bar called the "Tailspin" which is informally called the Lion's tail, as is the whole of the district." He frowns sharply at the nickname, and you suspect he detests that it stuck. "They have pledged to the Camarilla, and so long as they continue to attend our meetings and respect the traditions I have no issue being 'hands off' with their decisions on where to allocate their manpower." he offers a pair of open hands, in a concilitory gesture. "If you wish for right of domain, you may discuss it with Miss. Moore, and she can allocate accordingly with existing Brujah holdings. If you would prefer a more..." he glances out the window, towards the fast strech of neon that was the north side of the river. "... Accomodating estate, contact Miss Ashview. I would offer it myself, but I believe that Moore would view that as a Slight, and I do hope to avoid confusion." "Miss Ashview is an old friend. As for the other Brujah, if they need a swift kick in the teeth, I will do that. I will not make them surrender their ideals or beliefs. That said, if I have to, I can carve out my own in the territory given to the Clan, and fight all comers as need be. This is not my first conflict zone, and until I meet my Final Death, it won't be the last." There is an edge to his voice, one heard from many soldiers whom have seen way too much war. Gordon very clearly considers the offer. he leans back, in consideration, squinting at the man. After a moment, he nods. "Moore will respond well to your candor, I suspect. Discuss it with her, see what she will cede to you. Come to me if you feel that the offer is inferior, and I can allocate resources to any Brujah that can promote and secure camarilla interests." he smiles knowingly. "In the meantime, you are granted hunting rights in the Lion's Tail district. I cannot and will not break from the established borders at the time being." his eyes glitter with calculation. "I will abide to your request, until such time renegotiation is needed. No one works for free, and there maybe a night ones stock rises or falls. Either way I tend to be around to pick up the pieces on such occasions. So scratch my back and I will return the favor. Try to stab me or play me a fool and face my wrath." Toliver's tone is firm, and factual. His eyes betray nothing but professionalism. Gordon nods, if the statement surprised or concerned him it didn't show. "I'm quite certain you're used to having to make that particular petition. Allow me to say this: If you solve problems in my city, I will ensure you are rewarded." his gaze sets upon the man. "The Kuei Jin. The Brujah. The Sabbat. They are all part of the same inherit problem: They are invested in failure of this project. The powers above will ensure it succeeds, and aligning yourself with those interests would be undeniably advisible." The latent assure that was in his voice made it clear. "I will add: I am choosing to promote mercy at the moment. If it changes, prepare to change with it." he nods sharply. "Mercy is a by word of those who want to keep the peace. If need be, the true answer is change. Be it done with banishments, frank conversations or executions. A leader can not ever be seen as waffling at change, but rather as boldly latching on and seeing where the change will take oneself. That said I am change, so you either get on the bus or get out of the way. My Loyalty to the Camarilla, has never been questioned, nor will I sit down and let one question it. I was with Theo Bell as we retook the East Coast. I have fought war parties of the Sabbat and lost many friends, rivals, and young eager Kindred who wanted to make a name for themselves. You have a powder keg, Your Grace, and I am here to make sure this city's fuse doesn't go off, and that the Domain stays in the hand of the Tower, no matter who calls themselves Prince at the end. " He lets the statement stand in the air long enough for Mr. Gordon to understand the sort of Kindred he is dealing with. One with purpose and drive. "I sense your Scottish heritage also understands that fact as well. So lets cut to the chase of the matter. It seems there are issues, and I am awfully qualified to fix most of them. So let us be clear on needs and wants of Your Grace's needs and see what solutions we can come up with over time and execute plans of attack and diplomacy as need be." Gordon's face is flat as stone, and entirely as unreadable. He considerst he words, and then says, as if it was as natural as the breeze: "You presume much. I am not content to merely trust you at your word. So prove yourself, and I will consider your offer to solve my problems." he pulls a file from his desk, and slides it acrosst he table. "Chinatown must be removed. Nothing can be amended south of the river if our flanks are not secure. I would rather send California a Jade head in a box than make a deal with those who muscle into our interests, but since we are in a delicate situation I put someone delicate on the problem." he offers a soft frown. "We remove the Kuei-Jin from play, Childe of Tyler, and then we swiftly bring the Brujah peacefully into the fold before the Sabbat can catch wind of the motion. I hereby grant you hunting rights in Chinatown, and this file has the location of a Ventrue safehouse in the area. Bring me Kuei-Jin, alive if at all possible. I do not think it is rude to predict that you do not speak their language, so I took the liberty of hiring some translators from our field officers. Get them here, and we can plan a proper assault." his eyes slant on the man, for the first time the icey blue hardening. "Fail me in this, or attempt to evade this, and I will take you as yet another in a long line of egoists who think that survival and thriving are equal. The Camarilla is building here, and I do not need someone who loses 'friends, rivals, and eager young Kindred.'" he points a soilitary finger across the table. "I need an absolute victory against the Kuei-Jin if I am to make swift overtures against our real foes, with as little blood as possible. I'd like to avoid wasting blood on side projects. Do this, and together we can bring many of our foes to heel. I trust I am clear?" He picks up the folder and opens it to flip through the information. "I know of a translator or two, as my education didn't lead me to learn the Asian languages or their complex cultures, so different than Europe. I am sure there are sources of information that still can be picked up. Have you tried diplomacy with the Kuei-Jin? If so what went wrong? If not, then why not? There is always answers in interactions. As for where I can hunt... that will surely lead to conflict. Better have your tactical teams ready." He closes the folder after looking it over. Gordon sighs. "When they first arrived, they attempted diplomacy, but it became apparent by the third month that negotitations were merely a ruse to bring more and more of their kind into the city. We tested this by sending someone to negotiate, and they executed him." he frowns. "My tactical teams are always ready. That is the high mark of Ventrue capacity." "What of the Sabbat? I expect no diplomacy. Just curious what numbers we might be looking at. I will ash any of them that cross my path,as anyone with common sense would do if they could. As for your teams always ready, sure sign of being ready or just paranoid, depends on who you ask. That said let me see what I can do. Intel first then a subject to interrogate." Gordon shakes his head. "The Sabbat number more than my scouts say, I can assure you that." he offers, all the information he seemed primed to give. "But much, much lower than our combined numbers. The only problem lies in the fact that not ever Camarilla kindred is built for the warfare the Sabbat embrace, but they remain unlikely to tropple us from force alone." he raises a hand in a dismissive gesture. "Kuei-Jin only number between 6 to 14, depending on whom you ask, and only two or three of them appear to be worth beign concerned of. None of them should, in a single effort, be a concern." "Noted. That said Marcus has his spy gear and I am sure you have your own as well. That said use your mortals contacts to investigate during the day, as meter readers and going through utility paper work. You may see odd occurrences in usage that will lead to Communal havens and the like. Do you have a Nosferatu on the pay roll as well, as their information skills are sublime, when you can pay. There are ways to get the Sabbat when their pants are down. Like a gasline "leak" that blows up under ground, or a drug house raid in broad daylight, off the books." Mr. Gordon stares at him a moment. "Truly?" he offers, dryly. "The thought never occured to me." he deadpans. "Mr. Toliver, I think you will find that I do not sit idly in this tower unaware of how to do Wage War with the Sabbat. Mr. Crowley, the head of the Nosferatu, will be in touch with you shortly. I pay better than anyone, and that is why they are here." He gestures to the air, and the door opens. "Do your best to remain focused on the Kuei-Jin. I will move your considerable skills to the proper war when they have been proven effective, I assure you." he nods sharply. Kenna walks in the room, and stalks her way over to Gordon. She whispers something in his ear and he nods. "It appears the Siren wishes to offer yet another person into the city. Seems as suitable time as any for an assetment of your skills." he points to one of the chairs in the room. "Tell me what you make of them, when they depart. Send it over a letter, if you must consider it carefully." "You deadpan is a little flat. I offer not knowing you or your abilities, not more. As for listening fair enough. If it is who I think it is this should be interesting to see how the enigma works." With that he finds a chair to sit in and places his helmet on his lap over the file he has. Back in the lobby… ...Doris ushers her two guests into the lobby of Gordon Tower. Kenna Baird would be found talking with someone at the front desk and glances up to see them. "Hm." she squints at Doris, clearly attempting to recall if they are expected today. When she decides they are not she asks "Ah, Ashview! Welcome to the Tower." she offers, whatever distaste she has for the woman hidden behind a terribly bad attempt to sound welcoming. "Who did you bring for us today?" "We are here for the tailor, not the CEO. We have an appointment." Doris cannot sound cooler or more polite. She also pointedly steps in front of Raziel. Shielding the collection of fishnet and long limbs with her authority if not her actual physical stature “Doctor Marsden is known to you, however." Kenna sniffs the air. "Ah, no wonder I didn't hear of it." she shrugs, and nods to the attendant to buzz them in. "She does good work." Kenna offers, and there is a silence in the air for a moment.... Ah, fuck it, she can't stop herself. "-She could almost make a Toreador look intimidating." The Elevator door opens. Raziel snickers at Kenna's comment. The comment about Toreador and intimidation is met with a flat stare. There is a darkness to the little redhead's eyes and a warning tension in her frame. "Keep testing my patience, Mistress Baird, and you will learn exactly how intimidating I can be." The antiquated use of honorific is dripping with disdain. Kenna grins at her, fangs gleaming. "Who I was and who he needed me to be are very different, Ashview, and you're going to find that out too." she turns, and stalks off down the halls, her little barbs done. You suspect by her gait that she was suffering some measure of physical pain from her little display, but she was toughing it out for the sake of appearances. Raziel, always the most apt in social situations, watches Kenna stalk off "What the fuck is in her ass? Or isn't... I guess" "Such a pity they were different things..." Doris comments softly. Kenna can undoubtedly hear her. The stomping grows louder as she departs "I think she likes me, I can tell these things. I am good with people" Raziel says. And as he passes by the desk, he stops takes a step back, and writes on a yellow sticky note a huge smiley face and the words "Don't worry, Be Happy!!! <3" "She only likes Gordon and Mister Shaw." Doris directs her guests across the lobby. The Tailor's office was on the third floor, and it was closer to a 'workshop' than a true tailoring office. Suits of all sizes were upon racks alongside patches of Kevlar and various variations. The tailor herself was a Ghoul, and to hear her tell it, was behind the vast majority of the style in this tower. Raziel walks in a step behind Victoria and Doris, still clutching the pictures from the magazine he ripped out. He does not hide the fact that he is rubbernecking at the various suits, obviously impressed. "Thank you so much for the rush appointment, darling. You know I appreciate you and all that you have done." The greeting is cordial and Continental. "The young man's last suit came from a thrift store and that simply will not do for a formal diplomatic mission." She takes the news as if one had just slapped her, and gestures Doris towards the racks in an effort to work out what would be best. What followed was blur of comparisons, suits and shirts and jackets lost in a river of "Yeses and Nos." Raziel is gestured over so things can be held up and his suggestions can be offered. "He has some of his own ideas..." "Well it was a Tommy Hilfiger suit! and a good deal for $10.99" he says proudly, He then produces the two magazine pages and shows the pictures silently, with almost a pleading look. She stares at the man and lets that stare hang in the air for as long as possible. Victoria smiles at the tailor. "Unusual, to be sure, but certainly preferable to the thrift store's best. Perhaps a happy medium may be found?" "He will be representing the city as my interpreter," Doris adds. "Perhaps something with a little...?" The ginger gently commandeers Raziel's arm, so she can lay a rather startling electric blue and a rich bronze pocket square across his inner forearm, along with a swatch of a rather demure black brocade. Any sleeve in the way is rolled back. She mutters something to Doris, before setting to work. The words "Two hours" slip in and out somewhere. "Is... is that it then?" He looks back and forth between the tailor and Doris "Heraldry matters. Would you like to meet His Grace the Prince?" Gently distracting. "Um... Should I? I mean... sure... I guess." Doris gives Victoria a sympathetic mom-esque stare. "Yes, child. You should meet him." Raziel tries to stand up straight, "Yes, of course." Victoria smiles sweetly. "We shall be with you, of course. And Miss Ashview can handle introductions with charm and skill, should she wish to do so." "I do not waste charm or introductions on the unworthy, no." This may be in reference to the scene in the lobby. Or it may be apropos of nothing. She withdraws her cellphone from the interior pocket of her blazer. A few brisk taps. ...more tapping following an angry buzz... ...a final flurry of taps, then the phone is returned to its pocket. "Shall just be upstairs, darling. Buzz if you need him back sooner." Doris then beckons to the other Kindred. "Now we are expected. Follow me." The way to the proper elevator is familiar to Victoria, but Raziel is subjected to the full impact of the decor. And then… Doris lets herself into the office through the conveniently open door, the ever elegant Victoria Marsden ushered through first and then gently shepherding the collection of lanky extremities held together with fishnet mesh and electrical tape that is Raziel . After a nod to Toliver, she draws herself up to her full, if mildly insignificant, height. "My Lord, may I present Raziel Ó Enoch, Child of the Moon. Raziel, His Grace Prince Gordon." Victoria gives a deeply respectful nod, almost a bow reminiscent of older forms of greeting, and then steps aside to allow the presentation of the younger one. The Prince was sitting behind the desk with his focus now set entirely on the newcomer. "Welcome to New Albion, Childe of Malkav, we are honored to have you." he offers a polite smile, with a beckoning hand. Kenna takes her place behind the Prince, standing at a rapt attention. Gordon glances to Victoria, and nods at her in polite greeting. Raziel does bow deeply, keeping his eyes down slightly as to not meet Mr. Gordon's eyes, then takes a confident step forward toward the Prince. His nervousness betraying the confidence he is trying to portray. "It... umm... nice to meet you, uhh... your Majesty... Sir" Toliver's right hand comes up to give support to his head, just covering his mouth. Watching the exchange. Gordon watches the display carefully, and nods. "At ease." he assures him. "Prince is sufficient, or Mr. Gordon. I am not particularly demanding in that." he promises. "Take a seat. Tell me why you are here in my city." Raziel notably relaxes, "Sorry Prince, I have been a bit out of sorts trying to figure out what the rules actually are." He pads over to the chair indicated and sits. "Like... I got here I bought a house, then my sire told me I needed to get permission to buy a house. I get feeding territory but didn't know the house thing... I... can totally sell it or whatever if you need be." Raziel Shakes his head "Sorry I talk when I am nervous, talk too much some people have said, you asked a question... uhh, Enoch called me said he needed some help. He has still not said what with, but something to do with the city I guess... I have lots of weird skills that can be helpful" Doris looms somewhat protectively behind Raziel's selected chair. She folds her arms. "He has been useful thus far." Kenna, as if to equal this, steps forward, eyes boring into the person seated before her Prince with a mixture of 'I'm going to paint this room with your blood' and 'This is the most adorable thing I have ever seen, and I shall protect you' in equally bewidlering measure. Gordon, however, was stoic. "All manner of rules are to be regarded as important, and I do believe Miss Ashview specifically would be... One may say... Obligated?" he offers to her, with a glitter of rue in his eyes. "... To ensure you are trained in the laws that govern our very existence." he leans forward. "I will not deny, however, if what you say is true, that you are making an attempt at honoring these traditions, and your ignorance truly falls to your Sire, not yours." he leans back in the chair. "Miss Ashview, where is his Sire?" "Busy about the city's business. A lack of clarity in orders is a fault in the general. I shall revisit our courtesies with our new residents." Doris' attention is on Kenna, not Gordon. "I... Sorry. It is not Enoch's fault. I will sell it immediately." Raziel says simply He shakes his head. "Don't bother." he leans back. "Allow me to summarize a thousand years of rules in a few sentences. You Obey the Prince, the Prince is in charge of enforcing the only 6 rules that matter. The Masqerade, which I presume you are aware of... The right of hunting territories, which is the 'domain' that you attempted to honor. The Right of Progeny, or the siring of new vampires... Do not do so without my permission... The right of Accounting, which is why Enoch must come speak to me, as all Childer are considered their sire's responsibility until they are released, the right of Hospitality, which Miss Doris is perhaps the most vibrant example of, where you must come present yourself to the ruler of a domain. In this case, New Albion, my city, is why you are here today... And finally, the right of destruction." he frowns. "The right to kill other Kindred. I alone have that right, and I alone decide whom it is used against." he explains. "Is that clear?" he asks, plainly. Kenna's very aura radiates malice and bewilderment in equal measure. "Oh, uhh... I have been released for like 100 years. No I know the traditions and stuff, its the specific courtesies, Prince. Just the last city I was in the Prince didn't care about where people lived as long as they didn't feed without permission." Raziel looks shocked. Doris squeezes her eyes shut a moment. Then she resumes being stoic. She might have smothered Raziel in the privacy of her mind. Mr. Gordon sighs deeply and rubs his eyes for a moment. He slowly opened them, and deadset them on the man. "... So why did you buy a house? Where did you reside that domain was not a concept? Even Anarch and Sabbat holdings have at least the very concept..." "Saskatoon, it is up in Canada... there is so much space they didn't care where you lived. Just yeah, small population so feeding was a big deal" "The Movement does not segregate by Clan, my Lord." Doris points out quietly. "Not the way the Tower does." "Anyway, my Lord, I think Ms. Ashview wanted translation help for some negotiations or something... since I speak all of the languages." "If I may?" Doris attempts to interject. He frowns, and suddenly decides that this is going to be like attempting to get blood from a rock. "I'm going to go ahead and presume that this House of yours is north of the river?" Toliver move his hand from his mouth to massage his brow as he watches the spectacle before him. "Gentlemen." Now with more weight in her voice. "If I may clarify?" Mr. Gordon leans back. "Speak." he orders, flatly. "More critically than property management minutiae, I now have two cases of dead mortals that may be related. My neighbors may be involved. Raziel is assisting me with inquiring about the matter tomorrow." She pinches the bridge of her nose. "Mister Malachai and Raziel, along with Reverend Toliver here, and additionally Marcus Antoninus and Miss d'Galdis blundered into a sort of ambush while looking into the matter of Jason McCrory. I shall have a proper dossier shortly, to brief you in full." Doris has shifted, pacing in a small oval of space to the left of Raziel's chair. "The Children of the Moon have done well in service to your city thus far. Perhaps the conclusion of this investigation decides the fate of the property in question." Softly, whispered from behind Gordon's chair and to his left, so softly that only those not its target who are actively listening with the keenest of hearing detect it: Usual stakes? In a slight whisper to doris, but everyone in the room can hear it "You'll include the part where I protected the masquerade right?" Kenna blinked. "Be. Silent." The Siren's voice cuts like a whip. She is done with being soft for the moment. Gordon squinted at Ashview and nodded once. And in a flash, he rose from his chair. "If they are murdering our people, Miss Ashview, then it would be remiss for me to waste a single breath of real estate when a war is to be waged. Find me proof it was them, Miss Ashview, and consider this matter put to bed." he puts his fingertips on the table, in idle consideration. "If it was not them, then I need a firm identity. Their 'peace' has been edging towards aggression for some time, and I would rather not waste another die idle when I could advance in planning for their removal. Am I understood?" "If I were not such a good shepherd, would we be having this conversation?" An arched eyebrow. "The boy is welcome here?" Gordon squints at her. "Indeed. I will call it the cost of doing business with Malkavians and leave it be. But get the job done." he glances at Raziel, his eyes deadly serious, before refocusing on Ashview. "Have I ever truly failed you when you allow me to work?" Raziel's hair is petted absentmindedly. His eyes bore into her. "Prove yourself right again, then, Miss Ashview. And the Malkavian is to work alongside you, ensure they are properly acquainted with the rules of our kind by the time he returns here to explain the results of the investigation." The flatness of expression in Doris' hazel eyes indicates that she not only understands, she considers the street theater for the benefit of the other Kindred present to be tedious. "Of course. Your Grace." After a brief pause. "Let no man be unworthy of the angel which stands over him." Raziel grins at the last statement from Doris He raises a brow at that and says "If this were a land of angels, they wouldn't need me, Keeper." he frowns and settles back into his chair. "You are dismissed." "Grace is not a matter of worth, Your Grace." There is the tiniest sly smile. "We shall depart in peace." As the elevator shuts behind the group, Doris' voice can be heard: "Are you this stupid or...?" Gordon glanced up at Kenna. "I do believe that counts as a christmas bonus for you, this year." She cackles loudly, and nods. "Worth every penny, My Lord." she assures him. He smiles at her in warm humor. "...on purpose or is it some innate skill?" A well-manicured hand snakes up and seizes on Raziel's ear. "I... get nervous... and then say shit... I... can do better." Raziel tries to jerk his head away from her grasp, "Owww!" The grip is just tight enough on exactly the right part of his ear that thrashing makes it worse. "You will do better, or so help me I will have your soul in a mason jar to light my way to bed is that clear?" "I... don't know if I have a soul... do angels have a....." feels the pain intensify "OKAY! I get it! not the point! uhh... Ma'am" "Say 'Thank you', boy." The ear is still a sharp point of misery. "And mean it." He whimpers: "Thank you, Ma'am I owe you Ma'am Trivial Ma'am?" "Until you can be trusted to not be a complete liability, you have no credit with me." Coldly. But he is released. Raziel rubs his ear and moves to a corner furthest away from both Doris and Victoria. Doris, meanwhile seethes quietly in place, not looking at any of the other three people in the lift. She instead begins chewing her lip. Victoria speaks quietly with a soft lilt to her British accent, but her expression is stern. "Raziel, I know your sire rather well. I am certain you will endeavor to cast him in a better light during your next audience." Doris' continued silence is eloquent. Muzak haunts the confined space. Suddenly, she slams the emergency stop. The profound disappointment in her voice is overlaid with ice and acid. "If you fuck up like that tomorrow, everyone in this lift car is dead. Doctor Marsden, Reverend Toliver...everyone. I need to know I can depend on you." "I, Can I be honest? You will hate me more for what I should say. You understand Envy? because I am not Envious... I am Envy. I used to be Faith. Firery faith, with his flaming sword drawing down the weak to be cast out of God's sight or bend a knee to his glory. But when god turned his back on me I was no longer Faith. I became Envy. Envy for what the other Host kept, Envy for the free will God gave the worms of the earth." Raziel sits down on the floor, too weak to stand. He is staring at his hands. "I am so impressed with you, and what Mr. Gordon have created her. I got nervous, I lost control and... my very being looked to destroy what you have." He cries, full-on sobbing, a pile on the floor. I want to go home. I don't want to tear down what I don't have." It is not the insane-sounding babble that catches her off guard. Malkavians are like that, and Cerriphan makes more sense with fewer words. It is the pathetic, miserable snuffling and the absence of what should be. Raziel's chin is grabbed, his tear streaked face tipped up for inspection. "What. Is. This." Her free hand smears...nothing. The damp, unstained fingertips are offered to Victoria and Toliver for their assessment. Raziel watches as the hand recedes from his face, hoping for comfort. Slow horrifying realization dawns on him as the unstained hand is shown to Victoria. He screams "Fuck!!!", a blue-black glow erupts from his eyes and envelops his entire body. A cat caught in a corner. He reaches up to the roof of the elevator. "Stay away from me or I will desecrate the elevator, send us plunging to our death as the mechanism give way. I will come back in 3 days... will you?" Doris, a memory flashing past her mind's eye, starts singing. This time, however, she pours her blood's gift into the performance. The hummed melody from before fills the cabin, drowning out the Muzak -somehow back to Girl from Ipanema again -and filling the heads of the other occupants. There is the shuffling of feet audible to only the most delicate of ears. Boots moving. "Earth and all stars! Loud rushing planets! /Sing to the Lord a new song! /Oh, victory! Loud shouting army! /Sing to the Lord a new song!/He has done marvelous things./I too shall praise Him with a new song!" The hymn, modern though it is, is infused with such simple, innocent faith, that she must be singing from what passes for her heart. As the verses unfold, drawing more and more of Creation into its lyrical scope, she ceases to be aware of her surroundings. Raziel realizing that there is nothing he can do, he sits crosslegged on the floor again. The blue light recedes back into his eyes. "I should not have come to help, I knew this would happen. I just didn't expect it to happen so fast. Do what thou wilt." He sits down, broken. Now the bootfalls are audible to all. The Lights in the elevator flicker for a moment. Ventrue assets scurry like hungry wolves, the audible chime of weaponry being cocked for combat, if it came to that. Doris is not in a position to respond at the moment, focusing the whole of her gift on the poor...whatever he is. There is nothing but the song the moment needs and the perseveration of as many lives as possible. " Now the green blade riseth, from the buried grain,/Wheat that in dark earth many days has lain;/Love lives again, that with the dead has been:/Love is come again like wheat arising green." Another hymn. More simple, uncomplicated faith. There is a loud, audible SLAM of steel from the ceiling above. The thick, pleated imprint of a pair of feet nearly crashed straight through the elevator ceiling, as if someone had jumped from the Penthouse to the 6th floor, which they were now on. The speaker crackles to life, and Mr. Gordon's voice is out. "It appears we have a complication." he offered, flatly. "You may stop singing, My Siren. Press the Basement Floor button. Now." The Elevator is stopped halfway between floor Six and Five. On floors Six, Five, And Four are three armed ghouls in normal attire, two of which on each floor are disoriented from the singing. One floor one lies a fully deployed security force, with guns trained on the doors with orders to target the Abnormality. On the roof of the Elevator is Kenna Baird, in War Form. The music is clearly bothering her but is not stopping her. It is unclear where Gordon is. The singing fades. "I believe things are calm now, my Prince. I suggest that you not set the boy off again by startling him." Doris folds herself up on the floor next to the still-sniffling entity, settling so that he can sob miserably on her shoulder and be comforted...because while she is a monster, she understands homesickness. Raziel, is still sobbing crystal clear tears on the floor of the elevator, "I... never really lied... I am..... I was... I don't know how to start this." "Start at the beginning or I assure you I know the ending." Gordon’s voice audible crackles. Victoria kneels down before the boy. "Control. It is something that does not come naturally to you. I am one who understands the sway of passions - whether you believe me or not. 'Tis truth. Yet you have come into a world where control is life. What is the Masquerade but the governance of rational thought over our passions? Your passions may guide you, but they must never rule you. I must...explain...to Enoch some of what has happened here. I shall leave off the details if I can. But I promise you, we will both work with you on this. It is as necessary to life here as breathing was before." She stands up. "With our help, you will walk this path, but ultimately it is yours to walk. And there is only so much we may do." Her next words bite hard, her eyes flashing with a fire you've never seen in her before. "You will accept our help, childe." Raziel exhales, and inhales slowly, he looks up at the speaker that Mr. Gordon's voice came out of. "The issue is, I don't know what beginning you are asking for. In the beginning... so starts Genesis 1:1. but I was created before the light and the dark. Gods servant of faith. I remember watching them arch the sun across the sky. We watched creation. That was our job, the Grigori. But God was tired of the unmoving universe. So he created animals... and like us Angels had no free will, and bored him. So god created this thing called Man. And we were to watch them. Without Gods will they were boring... they floundered. They did not have the knowledge they needed to survive in the world of clay. We... loved them... we stepped in... we became their gods. We showed them math, beauty, civilization. But God instructed us to watch, not teach. So, he said, if we so love the world we should become a part of it. And so... I have lived generation after generation... ignorant to who I am... was... am? Am. Until something so traumatic broke me free of the cycle... my embrace. I awoke from my embrace from Enoch, knowing exactly who I was. Everyone assumed it was the curse of my clan... I assumed it was the curse of his clan. But when I defended his sire against his enemies and fell... I came back three days later. No longer a vampire... the... human? I was before... but also an angel trapped in a body of clay." He drops the masquerade he was holding, anyone with auspex who had previously been seeing him as Vampire now feels him radiate as... Angel... and as human at the same time. "I left, but Enoch said he saw a vision of me returning to heaven... so I came." "No different than any of the rest of us." Quietly. Firmly. "You have been Acknowledged and given Hospitality." "I... think that only matters for vampires." he looks back up to the speaker "Prince Gordon, I did not mean offense. My crime is literally being an idiot and not crying blood. Just please do not let any of this reflect on Ms. Ashview, or my Sire... they did not know of my nature." Victoria raises an eyebrow. "Miss Ashview, the boy - whatever he is, he is still a boy - is harmless, so long as he learns control. You know the Prince better than I. What is the likelihood he will be given the opportunity to learn?" Raziel tries for levity "On a plus side, I do predate the Curse of Babel, so I can literally speak all of the languages... and I am not bad at talking rat." "Hush, boy." Gently. Then, looking up at Victoria. "That depends on his temper. We do have a bet on, after all. The boy has been tasked with helping me accomplish my charge. He is not one to forfeit by cheating so blatantly." "Due to who my traveling companion happens to be, I must take more than a passing interest in this one's well-being. Although I intend to have words with Enoch upon my return." She lifts her chin and faces the doors, waiting for them to open. "So be it." Raziel is muttering under his breath: "I didn't want to cause this trouble" and “If it makes it better, he could just accept death, and I leave on Sunday and no one would hear form me again." and other unintelligible things. Victoria whips around before the doors open and seizes his arm. Her expression is clear; pull yourself together NOW, this is serious. She then drops his arm and turns back to the door, waiting. Raziel takes the cue and tries to collect himself. Doris scrabbles for purchase as she rather inelegantly drags herself back up to her feet. There is fastidious dusting off of her suit and adjusting of the "GI" pin on the lapel. Victoria cocks her head, frowns, then turns back to Raziel. You can almost feel the heat of her gaze as she scrutinizes him. She then turns back to the door, saying nothing. Raziel recognizes the look in Victoria’s eye, "If you want, I can be a werewolf, or a fae or any of the countless things I have come across. But what you see now, I swear is the truth" "Mind your tongue, childe." There is a heavy thump above them. A pause in the intercomm. "The door will be opening. Do not resist." he orders, flatly. There is a painful lurch of the elevator as the doors slide open, revealing a stark white Room even Doris has never seen. Every hallway was featureless, and a sea of ivory coated every inch. No discernable light source was present, but the whole of the hallway 'glew' to allow for vision. A row of armored men with faceless reflective masks were waiting, guns out and ready. The G.I. insignas were abandoned down here in the white... They wore marks of a Lion holding a scepter. "Miss Victoria Marsden, Miss Doris Ashview, step forward and get behind us. Albion Protects." they say, in a near perfect unison that showcases training, not supernatural compelling. The Boy™ - Today at 12:59 AM Raziel noting the distinct lack of his name mentioned. “You know... I really can’t die. If you made it stick you would be my hero forever.” There are a lot of factors to take in. Everything is terribly bright. Too bright...and too harsh. Doris has never been good at being bossed around by people with guns. "We are not in danger," she murmurs softly, squinting against the glare. Her voice has never been more reassuring and soft. However, it is just a voice, no tricks of command are laced through it to compel. "He is just a homesick, frightened boy. If he wanted to harm us or His Grace, he would have done so." Her pocket buzzes a second time. The first had gone unnoticed. "...I am going to take out my mobile phone, all right?" Victoria looks at Raziel. "I do not know what time it is for you, childe, but it is time. And for your sire, I will do what I can." She takes him gently by the arm, preparing to help him forward. "Do not wish for death." “You don’t understand what I wish for.” He looks at Victoria with a sadness in his eyes and a fortitude. “Go with Ms. Ashview, behind the men as they command. I will stay here. This is on me, neither of you even particularly like me. I have faith your Prince will do the right thing.” Raziel then addresses the speaker again, “All of this happened after Enoch released me.” Victoria nods, then looks to the men. "Do not provoke them." “I am subdued” he says to Victoria. “Now go, be safe.” "I do not particularly like anybody, boy. You are in vast and varied company." She withdraws her phone with one hand, moving slowly and deliberately. It is activated one-handed, the message scanned, and a reply sent. Then it is put away again. Her hands resume being held out slightly from her sides, palms out. She steps just over the threshold of the elevator. Between the boy and the firearms. "My Prince, you gave your word he would be given a chance to prove himself." Doris has switched to Gaelic, a language she must be more familiar with. "If you feel it appropriate, I will lay upon him those chains only we children of Caine are able to, and ensure he serves your will." Somehow, the offer is made without her face reflexively registering her disgust at the idea. There is a large, audible pause. A very bold offer. The masked figures waited, as if stilled and held by the crackling of the spear. "... Do it." he orders, flatly. Curiously. There is a heavy heaving of steel above... The Feral Hound of Gordon was clearly pacing up there. There is a smooth pivot on her slightly scuffed heels, her fingers already busy unbuttoning the French cuff of her blouse so she can get at the veins in her forearm. The sleeve is shoved back, a neat incision bitten. She cups her hand, letting it fill slightly before offering it to Raziel. She mutters to herself in Latin, her tone ironic and slightly bitter. Anyone familiar with Mass would recognize the communion liturgy. The colour goes out of his face, he looks at Doris, at the speaker... and the men. All the quiver is out of his voice, "And I can walk out the door... alive?" He asks no one in particular. The speaker is silent. The idle hum accented only with the idle shuffling of people with guns trained on him. "Now is not the time to question." Gently...but firmly. Victoria rests a hand on his shoulder. "Yes. We will watch over you. I will explain to your sire." Raziel takes the thick ichor in his mouth, his body reflexively gags, but he keeps going. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes closed, he stares at the ground. "It is done.” Businesslike, Doris almost absentmindedly licks the wound. Then she sighs, rolls her eyes, and fishes out her phone again. Another text. Victoria helps him to his feet. She gives him a look that says We will talk more when we're well away from here. There is more fastidious tidying up of her bloody arm. Doris is radiating disapproval, but that is only to be expected. Raziel is silent, angry, but silent. His breath is slow and measured. His eyes are still closed. Quietly Raziel says, "It's not you... I hate me. I just want to go." Victoria closes her eyes, then slowly opens them again. "And so we shall, when we are dismissed." Doris reaches out and gently touches the back of Raziel's hand. Her head tips to one side, thoughtful. Calculating. The terrible arithmetic of politics and warfare. It is, briefly, like being studied by a particularly human-shaped fox. "You chose to endanger our lives by not being honest." the speaker crackled. "Now Miss Ashview owes me a terribly large IOU for not doing her due diligence on whom she brings into my tower." he explains, matter-of-factly. "You will return here, 8:30 PM, with Miss Ashview... And report the results of the investigation. If you do not, you will be found..." the thumping above the ceiling grows louder. "...And Miss Ashview, for her failing, will be bound to me," he states. "I would threaten to kill her if you betray my trust in you, but life is cheap. You will indebt her forever into my watchful estate if you deny my due." he explains matter-of-factly. There is a roaring cackle above the ceiling. A Dog howling with laughter. "Though I consider her a dear friend, she is to you a savior. Do not fail two Gods in one lifetime. Am. I. Clear?" There is the faintest snort of amusement from Doris. It does not seem to be nervous laughing. "In my defense, he passed all of the tests I can give. Ask Crowley why he slipped past him as well." "Crowley is likely scurrying somewhere dark as we speak, Miss Ashview." Victoria steps forward, a slight lilt (again) to her British accent. "I imagine your Grace cannot have been any clearer. By your leave...?" "Your leave is granted, Miss Marsden. I appreciate your professionalism... And your discretion as the indebted parties resolve this issue among themselves." he offers. One of the guards steps off to the side and offers an open door. It appears to lead to a stairwell up to the first floor. "I will forward a considerable donation to your laboratory for your understanding of this delicate situation." Doris seems slightly distracted a moment, then nods. "We have a suit to pay for and I need to change... We are going on a field trip." Victoria nods. "I am old enough to have encountered such delicate situations before. It is understood." Raziel waits for the Kindred to start to move. Doris holds out her hand to her new charge. "Come along, boy. We have a bet to win." "The Suit is waiting in the lobby, provided he agrees to the terms." At that, Raziel strides forward out of the Elevator and into his gilded cage. "I have nothing to wear..." An ironic whine. "And I hate my hair." "That was not a yes or a no." He states outrights, the sounds of guns shuffling audible. "You are not leaving until you tell me that you agree and understand." "You obsess over contractual details like a sorcerer." Slightly tart. "My word is my bond. I hold all under my employ to the same standard. You will forgive me for not wanting you to be cheated out of freedom by omission." Victoria looks at Doris but says nothing. She returns to feigning disinterest in the power struggle banter. "I am not speaking for everyone else, but, I understand Mr. Gordon." still in a measured tone. "Do you accept the terms?" the voice hangs in the air. "I do not want you to think this is in light or in jest or can be weaseled freely out of." Doris absently chews her lip. She is manifesting impatience slowly but inexorably. "I accept the terms." Raziel clenches his teeth. "Do we have an accord, my Prince?" An edge to the little Siren's voice. There is an audible sigh from the ceiling. Kenna is clearly disappointed. "We have an accord; a compact is made. You may go in peace." he offers. the armed ghouls, as if by a glancing thought, stowed their weapons and allowed all to pass up the stairwell. "Better luck next time, hound..." Doris does not exactly keep this under her breath. She sounds grimly pleased with herself. Victoria follows after Raziel, last in line, her long black skirt sweeping the steps. As they escape the basement, Doris is quietly placing a telephone call. "Yes. See? I told you. You worry too much." Then, after hanging up, she remarks brightly, "Well that was exciting. Now I must go home and change...our diplomatic timetable has been moved up. And a few calls. Bother." "I presume we will have a longer conversation, put all of my cards on the table. I think Enoch would like to be informed... but I am at your... leave Regnant" He does not say the last lines with bile, there is actually a quite tone of what could be best described as thanks "There must be discretion for now. Mr. Gordon was clear." "Miss Ashview is sufficient." Her distaste at being called "Regnant" is obvious and eloquent. "We have to challenge the Dragon in its den directly. Good thing our tailor is swift and efficient." She makes her way to the information desk to pick it up. "Now...stop by my flat, change, and off to Chinatown. Are you free this evening, Doctor Marsden?" "I can make myself available. Do you need protection?" A slight smirk graces her features. "You had agreed to be my escort...and there is the boy to consider." "Very well. When do we leave?" "As soon as I can get changed and have a car sent..." The tidily-wrapped parcel that must be the suit is dumped into Raziel's arms, then Doris proceeds to step off briskly down the sidewalk, setting up that company car pickup at the Blue Devil. Category:Logs